Wings on Fire
by Soron Rocket
Summary: Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang are devoted to one another - in a purely professional sense, or so they maintain. One year into Roy's appointment as Fuhrer, something changes this. To everyone's surprise, Riza is reassigned to West City, and the fire between the pair seems to die. But a sudden threat to Roy's position might just re-ignite the flames; professional and otherwise. Royai.
1. Division: Birthdays & Burns

**Author's Notes:**

Right, okay ... I'm not sure quite how this happened. But after going through a rough period recently, I may have binged the whole of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, and now I can't get Royai out of my stupid brain. And so, this fic idea wouldn't let up bugging me until I got it out of my head and onto my computer - and I needed the headspace to carry on with my long-ass SNK fic.

Truthfully, I'm very new to this fandom (totally missed the boat here, I realise!) So if any of the characters seem particularly OOC over coming chapters, or I get any aspects of the FMA:B universe wrong, please let me know and I will do my best to fix!

Finishing my SNK fic is my priority currently, but this story also has me itching to write, so I'll try and keep this updated regularly, but my life is also kind of crazy at the moment to please do bare with me :)

Finally, some points to be aware of:

\+ This fic is set post Manga/ FMA:B events, canon universe.

\+ Currently only Royai, although I may dabble in other ships later - we'll see.

\+ Slow burn - I LIVE FOR IT. Give me that sexual tension!

* * *

**Wings on Fire**

_**ARC 1: Division**_

'_**The act, process, or an instance of separating or keeping apart."**_

**CHAPTER 1: Birthdays and Burns**

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye sat with her legs crossed neatly at the table outside the little coffee shop. It was a pleasant morning, by all accounts; the weather was mild, and only a few early autumn clouds peppered the horizon.

Riza scratched behind Black Hayate's ear with her foot as he sat curled against her leg beneath the table. She poured herself another cup of coffee from the cafetière, before reaching absently for the newspaper that had been left discarded by the table's previous occupant. As usual, she'd been up and out early, and now had plenty of time to kill until she needed to be at the office. Today was a paperwork day, so it was likely to drag.

She flipped open the paper, only half paying attention to the monotone, black print and baiting headlines on each page as she sipped her coffee. Deciding there was nothing worthy of note, she made to fold the paper back up and place it back across from her. But something on the front page stopped her.

How had she missed that?

She frowned down at the side profile of a man wearing the highest-ranking military uniform, hat perched neatly atop his head as strands of wayward, dark hair poked out from underneath. His face was set with a determined glare, and it made him look quite the picture of intimidation; albeit _handsome_ intimidation. Riza found herself tutting at the way his hair was the only aspect of his appearance which was out of place; his presentation otherwise pristine.

He'd hate that photo. She wondered when it had been taken.

Her eyes moved back up above the picture to the headline: _'Fuhrer Mustang Celebrates 3 Golden Years in Office,'_ and in smaller print, just below: _'A look at how far Amestris has come beneath his leadership.'_

Wondering how on earth she'd managed to pass over the article, Riza reached to flip the paper back open in search of the content. Words from the table beside hers made her hesitate, however.

"He looks so much hotter now he's got rid of that stupid moustache!"

"Oh, I don't know; I'd have let him show me the inside of his office with or without the facial hair!"

The giggles from the group of girls sat nearby made Riza grit her teeth. She glanced sideways at them, and realised they were pouring over the same article. They could only be, what? Early twenties at most? She had a feeling they'd be rather disappointed with the bland reality of the inside of Roy Mustang's office - which was more than likely nothing but a mess of paperwork, plagued by the Fuhrer's habit of procrastination.

Or at least; that's how it had been the last time she'd set foot in there, two years ago.

Her hand stilled on the newspaper as she continued to listen.

"He doesn't look a day older than the day he was appointed, does he?"

"No! That's why he's always got some beautiful woman on his arm." The girl sighed wistfully.

Riza pushed the paper away from her, the action measured. Her fingers reached to untie Black Hayate's leash from the arm of her chair.

"I wonder how old he actually is?"

"Thirty-Five this Sunday."

The group of girls looked up to find Riza pausing beside their table, her eyes appearing to focus on something down the street, in the far-off distance.

"Oh …"

She shook her head, before glancing down at the group of girls with a curt, tight-lipped smile. Then she was gone, feet carrying her toward her little apartment to drop Hayate off, before a day of signing off paperwork for the new recruits at West City Military HQ.

* * *

"Damn it, Havoc!"

Jean Havoc glanced up from his third coffee of the morning, cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. "Eh?" He glanced at the Fuhrer, who was sat behind his desk in the lavish office at Central HQ. "What have I done now?"

Roy Mustang tossed the copy of that morning's newspaper at the Lieutenant, his expression unamused. Jean caught it easily, flipping it over to browse the front page. "Ah … they printed that article about you. Nice. Looking good, Mr. Fuhrer." He winked at Roy as he clicked his fingers in his direction.

"Are you serious? _That's _the picture you chose to give to the press?"

Jean shrugged, glancing between the picture and Roy's flat features. "What's wrong with it?'

"What's _wrong_ with it? Have you seen my hair? That was taken the day we were running late to that Military Gala, and I didn't get chance to style my hair appropriately. Now I look like I can't even dress myself properly for formal occasions, let alone run a country!"

Jean frowned as he flicked his cigarette into the ash tray on his desk. "Seriously, Sir. Lighten up. You look fine. And how many public appearances have you made the last three years? I'm pretty sure one photograph is not going to erase your perfect appearance from people's minds." He rolled his eyes. "Not that it matters that much, but it's not like you've ever had any issues in _that_ department before."

Roy merely scowled at his subordinate and friend. Deep down, he knew Havoc was right - the picture was perfectly adequate. But Roy had never been happy to settle for adequate. And, more than that, he couldn't help an annoying little thought eating away at the corner of his mind:

She wouldn't have chosen that photo.

It had been two years, and it had been his decision, in the end. The hardest damn decision of his life, if he were being completely candid with himself, but his decision none-the-less.

And still, even after all this time, he couldn't shake her presence, even if it was no longer physical.

Roy grit his teeth, standing suddenly. "Come on."

Havoc raised a brow. "Where're we going?"

"A walk. I need the fresh air," was all Roy replied.

* * *

At 5:33pm, Riza's pen left the last looped signature on the final report of the day, and she filed it under 'Complete.'

Her walk back to the small apartment she called home in West City was lengthened by a detour to one of the little card shops in the centre of town. She took her time browsing over the selection of birthday cards, before settling on something fairly simple with the message 'Happy Birthday - enjoy your day!'

She'd sent him one last year, and in the interests of politeness, she felt it only appropriate that she do the same this year. She stopped by at the same coffee shop where she'd listened to the group of young girls fawning over his picture in the paper, and ordered a fruit tea to go while she quickly scribbled down her message. Once the envelope was sealed, she collected her drink and headed to post the card.

As it slipped from her fingers into the post box, Riza found herself wondering what the Fuhrer would be doing to celebrate his birthday this year. The last birthday she'd celebrated with him had been his thirty-third, and by all accounts, it had been quite the memorable occasion - for_ many _reasons.

"_Come on, Lieutenant. Just come for one drink with us. When was the last time we all let our hair down? Are you really going to turn a man down on his birthday?"_

"_Well, alright then, Sir. But only because Lieutenant Havoc has gone to the trouble of organising this get together."_

"_Oh? So it's just Havoc you don't want to disappoint? I see."_

_He'd smiled knowingly at her, and they both knew full well what the real answer to his question was._

Riza frowned at the memory as her eyes stayed fixed on the post box. How funny … it had been two years, and yet … that night seemed like a life-time ago.

"Are you alright, dear?"

She started, turning to find an older lady waiting with a letter in her hands behind her. "Oh - yes - sorry; I was in a world of my own."

The lady smiled and nodded knowingly. "He must be a handsome chap to have you looking like that."

Riza merely blinked; her breath caught in her throat uncomfortably as the old woman's words echoed in her ears. Eventually, she blurted out another apology, before turning and quickly heading off down the street, back to Black Hayate and her lonely little apartment.

* * *

Roy groaned as Havoc began unceremoniously dumping the correspondence for the day on his desk.

"That one's the request for a report you said you'd put together on the success of the Ishbal project from last year, that one's info on a court-martial for that officer who's being tried for bribery, that one's a request for leave -"

"Leave? Who for?" Roy glanced up at his subordinate from behind the hand rubbing his brow.

"Oh - me."

"Declined."

"But you haven't even looked when it's for!?"

"We're imminently about to tackle moving this country from a military state to a democracy. Now is not the time for leave."

Havoc appeared as though he were about to argue the case, but apparently he changed his mind and settled for a groan of protest instead as he swiped the paperwork back off the desk. "Fine."

Roy ignored his crestfallen appearance as he stared at the pile of work in front of him. "Come on - you'd think even the Fuhrer would get cut a little slack on his birthday - right?" He sighed, reaching for the first bit of paperwork. "Never mind. I'll just resign myself to this miserable fate of paperwork and" -

"Oh yeah!" Havoc cut in. "That reminds me - this also came for you.' He tossed over a small envelope to Roy. "Bet I know who it's from."

Roy frowned down at the elegant, cursive writing on the back. Yeah, he bet he knew who it was from, too.

"Thanks," he said simply, dropping the card into his desk drawer without another glance.

Havoc raised a brow as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. "You not going to open it, then?"

"Later." Roy didn't meet his gaze as he began sorting through paperwork.

His cigarette now lit, Havoc crossed his arms, his brow still crinkled. Roy could feel his gaze boring into him, but he refused to look up. "Is there a problem, Havoc?"

He rolled the cigarette around in his mouth a few times, before muttering his response. "No…'

"Good."

He turned to head back to his desk, but something made him hesitate. Roy grimaced inwardly.

"Sir … two years ago, when we all went out for those birthday drinks" -

"I believe it's your round for coffee." Roy held an empty cup out to his subordinate, still not meeting his eye.

Havoc hesitated, before swiping the cup. "Yeah. Fine." Roy was relieved he didn't press the matter.

As soon as the door to the office was closed, he found himself wrestling with the urge to take the card from his drawer and tear it open. He placed his palms flat on the mahogany wood of the desk, fingers splayed, and tried to concentrate on reading the documents in front of him. But it was as though the card was literally burning a hole through the desk and scorching his palm; his fingers itched and tingled until he could bare it no more. He yanked open the desk drawer roughly and pulled out the offending item. The envelope was sliced open neatly with a silver letter-opener - a gift from his Aunt when he was made Fuhrer - and the card slipped out into his hand.

It was simple and straightforward - nothing fancy, as expected of Riza Hawkeye. He found himself smiling bitterly. He flipped it open to read the message inside.

_Sir,_

_Have an enjoyable birthday. _

_Best,_

_Lieutenant Hawkeye_

So professional. So distant. He ran a gloved hand over the writing. Even now, after these years apart, she still followed his orders to the letter. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift for a moment. It wandered back to the eve of his birthday, two years ago.

"_That is a stunning dress, Lieutenant."_

"_Oh - ah, thank you, Sir."_

_The faint blush on her cheeks had been so endearing._

He opened his eyes again, using the sight of his office to ground him back in the present. It was dangerous to linger too long in matters that were no longer of importance or use.

You play with fire, and you get burned.

Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, of all people, should have known that better than anyone.

* * *

**... it's short one to start us off! Please let me know what you think - totally new to writing these guys so any feedback is so very much appreciated! SR x**


	2. Division: Flirting with Fire

**A/N: **Evening all! So it's another short one, but I wanted to get an update for this before I finish up working on my other bits. Originally I'd planned to cover the whole night off in one chapter, but I decided to split it and get a quicker update to you - I hope that works okay! Again, I'm still trying Riza and Roy on in terms of writing from their POVs, so if anything seems wildly OOC, please do give me the head's up! Hopefully I'll get better at them as the story moves along.

ANYWAY. A big thanks to those of you who reviewed, favourited and/or followed the first chapter - it's such a massive encouragement - you're all total babes!

I hope this chapter is a decent enough follow up.

* * *

**Wings on Fire**

_**ARC 1: Division**_

'_**The act, process, or an instance of separating or keeping apart."**_

**CHAPTER 2: Flirting with Fire**

**...**

_TWO YEARS PREVIOUS …_

_..._

"Come on, Lieutenant. Just come for one drink with us. When was the last time we all let our hair down? Are you really going to turn a man down on his birthday?"

Riza made a face at the Fuhrer as she followed him out of the office at Central HQ, careful to lock the door behind them. They really couldn't afford to be hungover tomorrow, considering they'd be setting the first stages in motion of transforming Amestris from a Military State to a Democracy. They'd both worked so hard for this. For _years_.

Roy was still pouting at her when she turned and made to head off down the corridor. She rolled her eyes. For such a brilliant man, at times, he could act like such a child.

But it _had _been a while since the old team had been able to catch up together. And he was right; it was his birthday … he'd need watching to make sure he behaved himself, especially with Breda and Havoc there egging him on. Jean Havoc especially had seemed to find a new desire to enjoy life to the fullest since regaining the use of his legs. And that, more often than not, involved drinking copious amounts of alcohol.

"Well, alright then, Sir. But only because Lieutenant Havoc has gone to the trouble of organising this get together."

"Oh? So it's just Havoc you don't want to disappoint? I see."

She returned his broad, teasing smile with a tight-lipped one of her own. They both knew full well who she was really doing this for, although neither would dare say it aloud, because then it would have to be acknowledged. And acknowledgement of anything to do with Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye's closeness outside of a purely professional relationship was something which the pair had danced around since the events of The Promised Day those years ago.

They had a goal to accomplish, and sins - so, so many sins - to atone for. And until all of that was dealt with, they couldn't afford to be distracted by anything selfish or personal. This was never something that had been explicitly discussed, but they knew one another well enough by this point that some things could go unspoken and still be understood.

Regardless, there were still occasions where they flirted far too close to the flames than they really should. Roy had always had a thing for playing with fire, after all, so it was no surprise that more often than not, the Fuhrer was the one who needed to be reined back in by Riza's poise and steadfastness.

"Eight, at The Firehouse, was it?"

Roy waved his hand at her dismissively as they arrived at the front steps of the building. "I'll pick you up."

Riza shook her head. "No, Sir. If you're drinking, your car is not coming."

He humphed. "Right fine - I'll arrange a driver, and a discreet cab. I'll be with you seven thirty sharp. Be ready."

"On the dot, Sir."

* * *

Of course, Riza was ready by seven fifteen.

Her fingers smoothed down the taut, black fabric of her dress as she sat in her little kitchen awaiting the Fuhrer's arrival. It had been almost a year, and yet; she still couldn't get used to calling him that. All too often, she'd called him Colonel when they sat discussing his paperwork in his office, or rode in the back of the state car together, or ate a hurried lunch in between meetings. The first few times it happened, he'd made some stupid joke about her doing him down, but after a while she'd noticed he stopped correcting her. She expected it never had really bothered him, but it annoyed Riza - how unprofessional if someone should hear her addressing him by a redundant title.

She glanced over to the window, where dusk had well and truly set in, and her own reflection gazed back at her amongst the dim street lamps. It was rare that Riza ventured out to bars or social gatherings like this these days; she was more often than not far too wrapped up in her responsibilities as Assistant to the Fuhrer to have time for such frivolity, so seeng herself dressed in anything other than her casual or work clothes was odd. She hadn't been able to bring herself to change up her usual, functional hairstyle - pinned up again now that she was letting it grow out once more - and the earrings she wore were understated studs, so at least it was only really the dress and heels that might garner attention from her ex colleagues and commanding officer this evening. Being the only woman working with a group of men had often meant that Riza had been on the receiving end of teasing and banter over the years, especially when they got to see her in a setting outside of work, although none of them had ever dared cross the line with her - she was pretty sure they knew she always carried her gun with her, and didn't completely trust her not to use it on them when pissed.

She was absolutely fine with that mistrust on their part.

At seven thirty-six, a car horn finally sounded outside of her building. Riza reached for her bag and keys, adjusted the gun holster on her upper thigh beneath her dress, and kissed Black Hayate on the nose.

"Be good. I'll be home by midnight."

The dog gave a woof of acknowledgment, before Riza's heels clicked through the kitchen and out of front door.

* * *

Roy shifted in his seat in the back of the cab as he awaited his Lieutenant. Within a minute of the horn sounding, the echo of high heels through the open car window alerted him to her presence. He turned to regard her, and despite himself, felt his pulse quicken.

Damn, she looked good.

It was rare that Roy got to see her in anything other than their work uniforms recently; they were having to dedicate so many hours their goals. He wondered how long she'd owned such a striking dress - he was sure he'd have remembered her wearing such a beautiful thing if he'd seen it before.

Before he could linger on his thoughts too much, the door opened and Riza slid in next to him. He faced forwards again swiftly, hoping that she hadn't picked up on him ogling her.

"You're late," she said simply.

"Ah-ha, I am. I do apologise, Lieutenant.' He glanced sideways at her. "I was struggling to decide on the best neck tie for this outfit." He gestured to the tie he was wearing - black, to compliment the grey waistcoat and suit he'd chosen. "Does it do it justice?"

Riza pursed her lips as though holding back a smile, but she didn't look at him. "Wonderfully, Sir." They both knew he wasn't actually so vain as he liked to make out; well, not _entirely_, and the real reason he was late was just down to his poor time-keeping skills without her there breathing down his neck.

The car pulled away.

"It seems we both had the same idea." He gestured between his black tie and her black dress. "We match."

"We do."

She was being deliberately coy with him. It had been so long since they'd been in a relaxed setting together, and although she was no stranger to his shameless flirting in the office, outside of their uniforms, it was harder to remember where the boundaries were drawn. He knew her too well.

But Roy couldn't help himself. He trusted his Lieutenant to keep him in check, always; and it was his birthday - what harm was a little innocent flirtation between friends?

"That is a stunning dress, Lieutenant."

Finally, he turned to look at her properly, and the smile that he gave her was genuine. The seriousness of the gesture seemed to catch her off guard.

"Oh - ah, thank you, Sir."

His stomach twisted at the faint blush across her cheeks, and it reminded him that it was _both _their responsibilities to keep themselves in check. He faced forwards again.

"You're welcome."

It was a short cab ride to The Firehouse - the bar which now belonged to Chris Mustang, since her old establishment was blown sky-high during the events of The Promised Day. Roy had made good on his promise to buy her a new one, and The Firehouse, aptly named, had been the perfect setting. The place wasn't overly fancy or eye-catching from the street; all the better for holding discreet meetings. And just as much, for relaxed get togethers with old friends.

They wouldn't be disturbed here. Roy shed his new title at the door, as far as Chris Mustang was concerned.

The tinted wall lights bathed the pair in a warm, red glow as they stepped through the doorway onto soft carpet adorned with a garish pattern. All the fashion now, apparently, but Roy wasn't so sure he particularly liked it.

"Ah, here's the Birthday Boy." The husky voice of Roy's aunt greeted the pair from behind the bar. "My, Riza. Don't you look a sight for sore eyes this evening."

Roy noticed his Lieutenant's cheeks darken again, although the blush was subtle. His aunt was right, truly; she did look a sight for sore eyes in that dress.

'Oh, thank you, Madame Christmas."

The Madame showed them both over to a booth she'd reserved for their party for the evening at Havoc's request - not that they especially needed a reservation; the place was quiet, even for a Monday, with a pair of gentlemen in suits eyeing the girls serving from a corner table, and a lone man in a flat cap and trench coat at the bar.

"Your friends should be along shortly. In the meantime, what are you both drinking?"

Roy toyed briefly with the idea of a whiskey on the rocks - it was his birthday, after all - but the memory of his exchange in the cab with Hawkeye, along with the glare she was now giving him from her seat beside him in the booth, made him reconsider.

"Ah … just a beer for me, for now." He raised his brows at his companion.

"I'll have the same, please." She nodded with a small smile.

Roy relaxed into his seat, tapping his fingers on the table as he regarded the Lieutenant. "So … tomorrow is an important day. Do you think we've prepared enough?"

She folded her arms as she met his gaze evenly. "Sir. It's your birthday; let's not talk about work all evening."

Roy's brows rose at that, and he sat a little straighter in his chair. "Huh … you've changed your tune. A moment ago, I was getting the death glare."

"Death glare? I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. It's that look that says,_ order anything stronger than a mild beer and I will shoot you in the kneecap with the gun I have attached to my thigh right now_."

He really didn't need to add the detail about _where_ exactly the gun was beneath her dress, but he just couldn't help himself sometimes. It was out before he could stop it.

"Alright, true. I'm glad you read my gesture correctly. And I stand by that - we have a big day tomorrow. But that doesn't mean we have to spend all evening discussing it, Sir. You are allowed to switch off once in a while, particularly on your birthday."

"Hmm. With a mild beer," Roy huffed as their drinks were brought over to them.

Hawkeye nodded. "With a mild beer. Cheers."

She offered her bottle towards him, and he brought his to it with a clink. He was unable to stop a small grin appearing, despite the way she kept him in check. Or perhaps, _because of_.

_Get yourself a wife_, Hughes had always said.

Well, turns out he virtually already had one, minus the sex.

What a shit deal that was - especially on his birthday.

* * *

Riza sipped from her beer as she scanned the front room of The Firehouse. She was glad it was quiet; easier to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Not that there should be anything suspicious happening on a Monday night in the middle of October in an unremarkable bar in Central City. It had just been so long since she took time out to relax, that it was hard to seperate her role beside Roy in the office from how she might behave as his friend enjoying a drink for his birthday.

"If we're not allowed to discuss work, then you need to stop treating this as a work engagement and _relax_." Roy's smooth baritone brought her attention back to their table.

He really did know her so well.

"I am. I will. Just checking, Sir."

It was at that moment that the front double doors swung unceremoniously open to reveal a group of beaming, familiar faces.

"There they are! Told you he'd be on time if Hawkeye was with him." Jean Havoc laughed as he made a beeline for their table; Breda, Fuery and Falman in tow.

Riza rolled her eyes, although she was smiling. "Only just. Naturally, he was late picking me up."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Breda grinned at the pair as he slid into the booth next to The Fuhrer, followed by Falman, whilst Fuery and Havoc scooted along beside Riza.

"Hey - I'm your superior _and_ it's my birthday - I really think you should be showing me more respect right now!"

Their shuffling meant that Riza and Roy had to edge closer to one another to make room. Her knee nudged his beneath the table, and although he didn't make eye contact with her, he made no move to pull his leg away from hers.

Riza took another hasty sip of her beer, cursing the little rush of butterflies in her gut every time they'd accidentally touch. It was ridiculous. They'd known one another for years, been to hell and back together, and she was a grown woman now in her thirties. Why was she still like this around him?

There was something to be said for unresolved sexual tension. It was no secret to either of them that they were attracted to one another - she knew this, even though it had never been outright, seriously discussed by either of them. It was extremely dangerous territory, so for the most part, except for the playful work-day banter every now and then, mostly from The Colonal - Or Fuhrer, should she say - they ignored it.

But every now and then, the attraction escalated to the point of an itch just begging to be scratched. This was why she tried to steer clear of social gatherings. The others were more of a hinderance than a help, too.

"Respect? We'll see how much respect you command when you're six whiskeys in and I'm propping you up at the bar!" Havoc laughed heartily again as Roy squared his jaw at him.

Riza tried not to notice how perfect the angle of his jawline was, pulling her eyes back down to study the label on her beer-bottle.

"Chance would be a fine thing," she heard The Fuhrer throw back at him. "I have Lieutenant Hawkeye literally watching me like her namesake. No whiskey tonight. It's best behaviour only, I'm afraid."

He glanced at her, and their eyes met for a split second. Both averted their gazes rather quickly.

Best behaviour, _indeed_.

"Pfft. You leave The Lieutenant to me," Havoc turned his attention to her, and she made a face at him. "She can have a whiskey with us too. I haven't forgotten what fun she can be with a fine scotch in her hand - remember the night you danced on that table in Madame Christmas's old bar?"

Riza felt a blush beginning to creep up her ears. "That was a long time ago, Jean."

Thankfully, Fuery cut in before Havoc could say any more. "Lieutenant, are you going to let the Fuhrer have at least one proper drink for his birthday?"

Oh, damn them all to hell.

Riza sighed, before giving a small, defeated smile to the group around her. "Fine. But if I can't get him up for this meeting tomorrow, just remember, the fate of Amestris was in your hands tonight."

"Oh yeah? _You'll_ be getting him up, will you, Hawkeye?" Breda nudged Roy in the ribs as he and Falman got up from the booth, likely to get drinks for their group, Riza guessed. "Sounds like you're in there, already, Boss."

She scowled at him. "I didn't mean -"

Roy turned back to her as they left, a childish grin on his face. "In fairness, you did ask for that one."

"Ugh. You knew what I meant."

"Hey, if you wanna stay over at my place to make sure I'm up for that early meeting tomorrow, you are more than welcome."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't _just say_."

She glanced at him sideways again, and, despite herself, let out a little laugh at his expression. "Roy Mustang, you are a handful."

A wolf whistle from across the table caught her attention. "You'd know, huh, Hawkeye?" Havoc winked at her as Fuery sat red faced beside him, clearly embarrassed by his comrade's remark.

Over at the bar, Breda and Falman were chuckling.

She frowned as her eyes moved between them all, about to tell them to lay off before she'd have to resort to whipping out her gun, but Roy got in there first.

"She wishes." He smirked, before nudging her in the side as he swigged from his beer.

She pursed her lips at him and raised her brows, but didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, reaching for her own beer.

Apparently that look was enough to signal the end of the childish back and forth between them all, as Falman and Breda turned back to the bar to finish ordering, and The Fuhrer merely continued to grin to himself as he set down his beer.

His leg remained pressed to hers beneath the table, however.

_She wished,_ indeed. This was why Riza Hawkeye avoided social gatherings where she could help it. Especially when they involved one Roy Mustang.

"Here we go!"

A tray of drinks was set down on the table by Falman. Riza eyed the tumblers of whiskey. Across the table, Fuery let out a groan.

"Oh - you got me whiskey, too? You know what it does to me!"

"Don't worry, Fuery," Havoc patted the smaller man's arm as he reached for a tumbler. "Hawkeye here's planning on being sensible. She'll look after you."

"I don't know," Breda cut in. "I got her a whiskey, too. She might be dancing on the tables again."

Riza merely sighed in defeat as Falman placed a measure of whiskey in front of her, beside her half drunk bottle of beer.

"She's not dancing on any tables in that dress."

She blinked a few times as the Fuhrer's words sunk in, surprised at his stern tone. When she turned to him, she found him staring seriously at her. Her brows lifted as she folded her arms slowly across her chest. "Oh really, now, Fuhrer Mustang? What are you trying to say?"

"He's trying to say, you get up on any tables in that, and we'll definitely get to find out where you keep your gun hidden." Havoc smirked at her.

Riza's head snapped towards him. "I can show you now, if you like," she deadpanned, hand reaching beneath the table.

"Whoa! Don't shoot the messenger - literally," He shot back at her, hands raised in mock surrender.

It was Riza's turn to wear a small smirk, then. Her hand returned to the top of the table, where she began to toy with the glass tumbler before her. She was very aware of the heat of Roy's thigh as it remained pressed to her own beneath the table, and she could feel him still glancing at her sideways, but she ignored him, eyes trained on her second drink.

"Fuck, is anyone going to drink these damn drinks I bought or are we all going to just sit here watching The Fuhrer and Lieutenant flirt all night!?"

Riza and Roy both looked quickly towards Breda as he gestured to the drinks before them, exasperation written into his movements.

Roy scoffed. "Am I toasting my own birthday, then?"

Riza rolled her eyes, but stood with her glass aloft, keen to move past Breda's comment. "A toast: to Fuhrer Roy Mustang, our outstanding leader - happy birthday."

Everyone clinked their glasses and knocked back their whiskey. Riza wrinkled her nose at the strong taste, but that was nothing to Fuery's reaction. His glasses slid down his nose as he choked loudly, causing the rest of the group to break out in unbridled laughter.

"Here."

She passed him her beer, which he swigged gratefully.

As they retook their seats, Riza didn't fail to notice how Roy's arm settled casually across the top of the backrest behind her. She hated how it made her soul lift a little. In an effort to distract herself, she reached below the table to adjust the hem of her dress.

Her hand brushed his thigh accidentally; a result of the close proximity of them all huddled into the booth. It was only the ghost of a touch, but she knew he noticed her breath hitch as her fingers grazed the material of his trousers. His brows rose a fraction.

Damn it all. She should really have insisted on staying at home with Black Hayate.

They were flirting a little too closely to those flames again. But oh, was the warmth even better than the pleasant burn of the alcohol as it settled in their bellies.

* * *

**Y'all know where this night be headed, don't pretend that you don't ;-)**


	3. Division: Detonation

**A/N: **Hi guys! Hope you're all well! Huge thanks to everyone who's read this story so far, and especially to the reviewers - it's great to hear your feedback! I've spent much of this evening trying to get the editing finished on this one - sorry it's been a while. Anyway, my eyes are crossing now, but I'm too impatient to upload, so if there's still a ton of mistakes - I'm sorry! Please don't judge me haha.

* * *

**Wings on Fire**

_**ARC 1: Division**_

'_**The act, process, or an instance of separating or keeping apart."**_

**CHAPTER 3: Detonation**

_TWO YEARS PREVIOUS … CONT'D._

It was exactly like Roy's aunt to know just what he needed to enjoy his birthday. A jazz quartet had begun setting up in the corner of the room shortly after everyone was finishing their first round of drinks, and the sight made him smile. Jazz music was his favourite, and the increased size of this new establishment meant that there was a little more room for entertainment. There was even a small dance floor set out in the form of an area of cleared tables in front of the band.

Hadn't his Lieutenant loved to dance, once?

By the fourth round of drinks, Roy most definitely felt markedly more relaxed, to the point where his fingertips would brush Hawkeye's shoulder pseudo-accidentally every now and then from where his arm was perched across the backrest behind her.

If she noticed, she made no acknowledgment of his touch.

That was good. That was what he needed - her to ground them still. The whiskey was warming his chest, and he knew it must already be impairing his judgement.

Probably why he kept seeking out opportunities to touch her.

"Well, I believe it's my round."

His eyes were drawn from Falman's conversation to the woman beside him as she addressed the group. He battled hard to disguise his disappointment at the loss of contact from her thigh when she made to get up.

"Aww, no way - not that I'm one to refuse drinks, Hawkeye, but if you come back with some shitty beer -"

Havoc shut his mouth at the look Hawkeye cast across at him, although there was still pleading in his eyes.

"If you boys want to carry on drinking whiskey until you can't stand, don't let me stop you. I'll just head home to Black Hayate and leave you all to it. But please be aware: I'll hold you all responsible for making sure the Fuhrer is at his morning meeting tomorrow."

Her hand twitched at the skirt of her dress, and it was quite obvious that every single pair of eyes watching her at that table knew exactly what was hidden inches away from her fingers. The threat was enough to make them all hesitate.

It was no surprise to Roy that after several moments of awkward silence, Havoc was the first to open his mouth again. His friend and comrade seemed to enjoy goading her almost as much as _he_ did.

"… what time's his morning meeting?"

The Lieutenant cocked a brow. "9am."

There was a collective groan around the table.

"I take it that's a no, then." She folded her arms, her glare remaining stern.

Good God; she really _was_ like his wife.

Roy decided to step in before anyone could push her any further - as much as he would enjoy another whiskey, the threat of losing her company for the remainder of the evening somehow made the idea less appealing.

"Come on, Lieutenant. You won't be able to carry six bottles of beer from the bar by yourself, I'll give you a hand."

"Oh; thank you, Sir." The look of surprise at his offer lasted no more than a split second. She nodded, her features again schooled into that even expression she normally wore.

And yet, wasn't there just an extra richness to her brown eyes this evening?

Roy knew he couldn't be the only one loosened up by the flowing drink and lively music.

"Alright, I'm going out for a smoke," Havoc announced. He and Fuery shuffled out of the way to allow them to exit the booth.

Roy followed her in silence to the bar. She didn't look back, or even meet his eye when they stood patiently waiting to order.

He cast one fleeting glance at the deserted dance floor, before clearing his throat. Before he could speak, she cut in.

"Sir. Please stop."

He hesitated, raising his brows. "Stop what?"

"You know exactly what."

Roy scoffed, placing a hand on the bar. His fingers began to drum. "I can't stop something I didn't start."

The Lieutenant's head snapped around, and her eyes were narrowed as she looked at him. "Excuse me?"

The corners of his mouth canted as he glanced sideways at her. "I'm joking. But that _is_ a very nice dress, Lieutenant."

He enjoyed the way her cheeks were dusted rosy again at his comment.

There was a pregnant pause, before Hawkeye spoke again. "I appreciate the compliment, Sir."

"I'm glad you do."

More silence. Roy knew very well she was trying to tread carefully. His fingers continued to drum against the smooth wooden surface of the bar. She was poised as ever; calm and collected, even though her blush told him inwardly she may feel otherwise. He had always been the clumsy one in all of this, and he knew she was trying to avoid them stepping on a landmine which would blow all self control out of the equation. Navigating such a minefield alongside him must be tricky work. But he relied on her to keep them both safe, while he simply tried to keep them sane. There had to be some outlet for the tension between them, after all. No matter how fleeting.

She crossed her ankles over. His eyes rose to the clip in her hair; his fingers continuing to drum agitatedly. She'd been growing her hair again for a little while, now. He itched to pull it free, so that he could see it cascade down her back again in all it's golden splendour.

"You're staring, Colonal."

She didn't look at him. He didn't correct her use of his redundant title.

"I am."

He didn't try to hide it, or deny it. This seemed to make something in her snap.

She turned sharply, her rich coffee irises burning into his like molten liquid.

"Please, _stop_."

Their understanding of one another was such that, in those two simple words, Roy realised they were teetering dangerously close to one of those highly explosive landmines. It was a warning; a confession that if he didn't start to tread carefully, he might not be the only one to lose his balance and blow them both to all hell.

"Sorry."

He took his hand away from the bar and shoved it roughly into his pocket.

* * *

Riza felt her shoulders sag a little. She wondered why it was proving especially difficult this evening to brush off his light hearted flirting.

Perhaps it was because it had been such a long time since they'd been out together like this. And the rousing music of the band coupled with the way the whiskey was making warmth bloom in her chest was an intoxicating combination - one she couldn't afford to get lost in, no matter how much a part of her wanted to.

Finally, and to Riza's huge relief, Madame Christmas appeared before them to take her order.

"Beer? Good on you, Riza. You make sure he behalves himself, birthday or not."

Riza glanced at the Colonal, and found him looking at her with what might just have been a sheepish grin.

"Yes. I will."

Didn't she always? Wasn't that just her lot in life, to keep him on the straight and narrow? Whether that be by a gun to his head or beside him at a bar with her stern words … Riza Hawkeye had pledged to be responsible for Roy Mustang's back, in whatever capacity life dictated. There was no place for selfish desires; she had to be the sentry to his success. For the sake of both their souls.

"And I had it on good authority that Fuhrer Mustang was a whiskey man!"

Riza turned to find the gentleman wearing the trench-coat and flat cap addressing them from a little way down the bar. She hadn't even noticed that he was still here - most other customers had left already. A mop of messy brown hair poked from beneath his hat, falling around his eyes as he regarded the pair of them with a warm smile.

"Please - let me buy you a drink to thank you for all you've done for Amestris this past year, Sir."

Riza felt the Fuhrer straighten beside her. "Oh - thank you, but that's quite alright. Please, save your money."

The man continued to smile. "So gracious. Well then, if you won't allow me to give you something, I wonder if you'd allow me to ask something of you?"

Roy leant his elbow on the bar, raising a brow. "Sure."

The man rose. Standing, he was a good few inches taller than the Fuhrer, although his frame was far more wiry. Riza's hand fell casually to her side. She was suddenly very aware of the cool metal pressed to the inside of her leg beneath her dress. Her eyes narrowed as he stepped along the bar in their direction.

Just before he reached them, Riza instinctively placed herself across her Commanding Officer, her posture stiffening.

A hand extended towards her, palm upturned.

"I was wondering if you would allow me to request a dance with your beautiful assistant, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

Riza was sure her jaw must have looked quite frankly comical, the way it slackened at the man's words.

There was a pause, before she heard the Fuhrer's measured baritone over her shoulder. "The Lieutenant is not on duty this evening - she's free to dance with whomever she wishes."

She felt the sudden urge to laugh at his words.

If only _that _were true.

The man's eyes met Riza's, and she realised they were a deep brown, similar to her own. "Well, in that case - would you be up for a dance, Lieutenant?"

Riza could practically feel Roy's warm breath on the back of her neck. When was the last time she'd danced with anyone? It had certainly been a while.

She'd loved to dance in her youth. Before her father's death. And the military. And Ishval.

But right now, on the eve of such an important day in both of their careers, she wasn't really sure she felt all that much like dancing. Not with a stranger, anyway.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. He met her gaze steadily.

"You should go, Lieutenant. Please, enjoy yourself."

His tone was warm, but his grey eyes seemed to tell of some other emotion.

Wouldn't it be nice if she could just dance with him, instead?

`'I …"

Her gaze dipped to the bottles of beer Madame Christmas had lined up on the bar for them.

'Don't worry about these. Havoc will be back in a moment."

She watched his hand slip out of his pocket, and return to the surface of the bar. His fingers began to drum lightly again.

Perhaps it would do them both good to spend a few moments apart. She could do with clearing her head.

She turned back to the stranger in the trench coat. "Uh, alright. Sure. One dance."

It had been so long since she had found herself in a setting like this with a man she'd just met, that Riza wasn't quite sure how she should even conduct herself. It was pathetic, really, at her age. Most of her childhood friends were settled down by now - married with families. But then, they weren't assistants to men who ran countries.

She swayed her hips noncommittally to the music, watching the man before her with mild interest. Despite the gangly appearance of his limbs, he conducted himself with surprising grace as they moved around the deserted dance floor. A wide grin stretched his face as he stared at her. She tried to throw a casual glance in the Colonel's direction, but found he was no longer at the bar.

"So, Miss Hawkeye," The man's voice drew her gaze quickly back. "Don't you want to know the name of the man who invited you to dance?"

She should have asked already. She was being rude.

"Oh - yes. My apologies; Mr …?"

"Johnson. First name Jason. My friends call me Jay-Jay, though. So feel free." He gave her a wink. It made her want to turn and head straight back over to the Colonel and her comrades.

She didn't, though. She was meant to be taking time to clear her head.

"Well, thank you, Jay-Jay. Are your friends not with you tonight?"

He pushed his hat back and shook his floppy, chestnut curls. "Afraid not. I just stopped in for one on my way home from the office. When I noticed the Fuhrer and yourself in the booth, though, I couldn't bring myself to leave without thanking you both for the work you do. Never imagined I'd actually get to dance with Lieutenant Hawkeye, though."

He shrugged his shoulders as his feet moved in perfect sync to the beat, that infectious grin still curving his mouth upwards. Riza supposed he could be considered quite handsome, if someone were so inclined to view him in that light, although he must be a good couple of years younger than her. She tried to think of something to say in response that wouldn't come off as dismissive.

"Ah - what is it you do for work, exactly?"

Well, that was most certainly a failure.

He didn't seem affronted, though. More genuinely pleased that she seemed to be taking an interest. "Oh, nothing very exciting. Administration for a delivery company at the back end of town. Very mundane compared to your work - it must be quite exciting, working alongside the Fuhrer." He leaned a little closer as the band changed tempo with a more relaxed number. She automatically slowed her movements to match his. "You know, a lot of people say you're the Fuhrer's backbone. Behind every great man, there stands a woman; that sort of thing. He wouldn't be where he is if it weren't for you."

Riza frowned. That was certainly unfair - whilst Roy often needed a small nudge to keep him on track when it came to deadlines, he had most definitely reached the position he currently held on his own merits - one of the biggest being his brilliantly astute mind. Riza was practical, loyal and organised, with a cool head under pressure. Roy, however, was sheer brilliance. She'd never come across a man quite so sharp and strategic as him. He was also an excellent judge of character.

"Did I offend you?"

She realised suddenly that she hadn't answered him. She unknotted her brows. "Sorry - no, not at all. I'm flattered, although it's wholly untrue. The Fuhrer is a very brilliant man. In fact, I'd say I owe a lot of my own success to him, really."

Without warning, he stepped closer to her again. His left hand found its way to her waist, his other held out for her to take as he swayed them gently. This close, Riza could smell his cologne. She had to admit it was quite pleasant; the scent surprisingly luxurious for an admin assistant from the back end of town.

"It seems you're both pretty important to one another then, by all accounts. Quite the team, in many ways."

Riza suddenly felt uncomfortable. Had she been a little too transparent in her body language with her superior tonight? She hadn't realised that there was anyone other than their circle still in the bar - it was the alcohol, she knew, dulling her senses when she should be alert. Had this man - this Jay-Jay - seen something he shouldn't have? She shook herself inwardly. No - she and the Colonal hadn't done anything inappropriate. Nothing more than a few stolen glances and lingering touches.

"We've … been together a long time," she replied evenly.

* * *

Havoc set the additional beers down beside Falman and Fuery, as Roy slid his and Hawkeye's onto the table, handing the third to Breda.

"I'm just saying, it's about time she let her hair down a bit - nice to see her flirting with someone other than you, Boss."

Roy merely grunted, taking a swig from his bottle.

"You seem tense," Falman pointed out.

"Absolutely not," Roy answered bluntly.

Havoc smirked, fingers peeling the label off his bottle as he slumped back into the leather bench. His gaze moved between Roy and the dancing couple over by the band. "She _does_ look good tonight in that dress. Not hard to see why he wanted a dance with her."

Roy kept his eyes trained on the bottle in his hands. He daren't look over at them. It had been all he could do to keep his expression even over at the bar when the guy had asked.

Deep down, he knew he was just being a jealous asshole. But some childish part of him wanted to grumble that if anyone should be dancing with Riza Hawkeye, particularly on his birthday, it should be _him._

"Yeah, well. Good luck to him." Roy lifted the bottle to his lips again, taking several long swigs.

"Whoa, steady on there, Boss." He realised Breda was frowning at him. "You heard Hawkeye - she'll be kicking your ass tomorrow morning if you're not fresh as a daisy for this meeting."

Yeah. He had a point.

Roy set the bottle down on the table.

"Oh, hello - looks like her new pal is getting pretty friendly," Havoc chuckled.

Roy's knuckles grew white as he gripped his bottle tighter. His jaw clenched as he stared at it resolutely.

"Good for Hawkeye," Fuery offered in a small, pathetic voice.

Damn it.

He turned to look over at the dance-floor before he could help himself. The sight that greeted him made his chest ignite with an unruly fire.

He looked back at Hawkeye's untouched drink beside him.

"Breda - move. I'll be right back."

* * *

Jay-Jay pulled Riza closer still, so that her body brushed his as they moved. He really did dance exceptionally.

"Oh … Does that mean you're not in need of a dance partner, then, should one come along?"

His voice hit the shell of her ear, and the words along with the sensation made her pull back. She met his gaze, frowning.

Was he asking her if she was romantically available?

… Did he think she might be involved with Roy Mustang on more than a professional level?

Shit.

"I …"

"Excuse my interruption, Lieutenant."

The low rumble of the Fuhrer's voice shattered the moment of tension between them. She let go of Jay-Jay's hand quickly, spinning around to face him. He was standing so close that she almost head butted him.

"Sir - how can I help?"

What timing.

Her tone was clipped, but she needed the opportunity to set the record straight before she walked away from this Jay-Jay guy. She didn't want him getting the wrong impression. That was all they needed right now.

The Colonel, however, seemed to have other ideas.

"I thought you should know, you have a drink waiting for you at our table."

"Oh. Thank you. I'll be over shortly."

He didn't move as he looked between the pair.

Oh, come on. _Not now_, Roy Mustang.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

"Yes. Perfectly fine. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Right. Well, I'll just finish this dance, and I'll head over."

* * *

Her words were a verbal slap in the face.

She was telling him to disappear. She was enjoying her dance with this skinny, floppy haired idiot and he was cramping her style.

Roy wanted to incinerate the guy on the spot.

Instead, he smiled through gritted teeth and nodded. "I see. I think Havoc had something he needed to tell you quite urgently, though."

The glare that she gave him was nothing short of livid. So she _did _want him to leave her alone with this creep. Well, if that's what she -

"Hey, look - I should really be getting back now; this was only meant to be a quick drink and time's getting on."

The guy looked between Roy and his Lieutenant with a stupid, shit eating grin on his face, before leaning in quickly and planting a kiss on her cheek.

A god damn _kiss_.

At the sight of the blush on Hawkeye's cheeks, Roy thought he might just spontaneously combust into a pillar of furious flame.

He watched, jaw slack, as the guy turned on his heel and disappeared off towards the exit without so much as a goodbye.

Had they exchanged phone numbers already? Had she arranged to see him again?

She turned on him as soon as the guy was out of sight. "Sir - what was _that?"_

He grimaced at her. "What do you mean, what was that?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Jean doesn't need to tell me anything at all, does he?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "That creep was all over you - you were clearly in need of rescuing!"

It was the stupidest thing that had probably ever left his mouth. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, in need of rescuing from some skinny shrimp in a bar. He'd laugh at himself, if he wasn't so livid.

"Rescuing?" Her hands were on her hips now, and he knew he had absolutely said the wrong thing to her. "Colonal - Sorry, Fuhrer - did it ever occur to you that I might have been enjoying myself?"

_Enjoying herself?_

Roy wanted to punch something. Or light it on fire.

"Oh. Right. I see."

"Do you? Do you really? Because you sure aren't acting like it."

She turned on her heel and marched back to their table.

Damn it all to hell. He wanted to strangle her and kiss her all at the same time. He was well aware he could do neither.

Happy fucking Birthday, Roy Mustang.

When he arrived back at the table, he found her still standing, reaching for her bag.

He blinked. "What are you doing?"

"It's been lovely, thanks, Sir, but I think I should head home now. Hayate will be waiting for me."

His heart constricted at the idea of her leaving. Now he wanted to punch _himself_ in the face.

"Already?"

"Times getting on. We've an important day tomorrow. I want to be sharp, sir."

That was it, then. There was no arguing with her. She shrugged her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

Roy watched her go, fists clenched at his sides and jaw squared. He glanced back around the table. Shrugged shoulders and blank faces greeted him. Over at the bar, Chris Mustang raised her brows at him as she dried a glass with a towel.

He scowled. "I'll be right back. Forgot there was something I needed to tell her."

* * *

Riza stormed out of the bar, head down against the chilly evening breeze. Damn, she should've brought a coat.

Her mind whirred with the turn the evening had taken. This was why she avoided out of work engagements and alcohol - they were too difficult to navigate. Especially when she was steering for both herself and her Commanding Officer.

The street outside was deserted. Cabs didn't frequent this way unless directed, so she was probably better off walking. It would give her chance to clear her head before she got in, anyway. She rubbed her arms; goosepimples now smattering her skin in the crisp air, and began to walk.

She'd taken no more than three steps when a familiar voice burst through the doors of The Firehouse behind her.

"Hey - Lieutenant - wait!"

Roy Mustang.

Roy, _Roy_ Mustang.

Why did he never understand when to quit?

Riza's steps slowed, and she turned back to him.

"Sir?" Her tone was sharp.

He jogged over to her. "Look - I'm sorry, alright. Just come back inside and drink your beer."

She smiled at him politely. "No, thank you. I have an early morning tomorrow and -"

"Did you really like him that much? That you're this mad at me for interrupting?" He cut across her, and his voice was suddenly prickly. It made Riza's blood boil.

"We're outside. In the middle of the street. Have you heard what you're saying?"

What if someone happened by? There were lots of apartment blocks nearby. What if someone overheard through a window? Out on a balcony? How would it look - The Fuhrer and his assistant arguing outside a bar about her dancing with another man?

She wanted to shake him.

He blinked at her. "Sorry?"

Riza sucked in a breath, clasping her hands in front of her the way she did when she was preparing to chastise him for leaving the completion of a report far too close the deadline. "I was about to explain to him that you and I are indeed in a purely professional relationship, as it seems he got the wrong idea in the bar tonight."

His mouth opened and closed several times, before he uttered an "oh …"

"I don't believe your interruption really helped our case. It could quite easily have been construed as an act of jealousy, Sir."

The Fuhrer simply stared at her for a long moment, as though weighing up his next words at length. Finally, he spoke, his voice measured and deliberate.

"Yeah … I can see how someone might make that assumption."

His onyx eyes glittered in the streetlamps, and she could feel the undercurrent to his words like static in the air.

They'd had too much to drink.

She needed to get out of this, now.

She needed to go home to Black Hayate.

Somehow, Riza's stiletto heels stayed rooted to the spot as she stared at him. The breeze picked up, and she rubbed at her arms again.

He closed the remaining distance between them, shrugging off his jacket as he moved. "Here - it's far too warm in there."

He held it out to her, and Riza warred inwardly with whether to take it or not. Finally, the biting chill made her mind up for her. She took the luxurious-feeling fabric from him and swung it over her shoulders.

"Thank you, sir."

It smelled far more pleasant than she'd care to admit.

He took another step closer to her, and her head began to spin. They were only inches apart now, and she could make out the minute specks of grey beginning to pepper his once completely jet hair as the breeze ruffled it. He opened his mouth to speak again.

"R- "

"_Sir._ I'm going home now. Please, remember our meeting tomorrow and try not to get too drunk."

Before she could change her mind, Riza turned and walked resolutely away from him down the street.

By the time she reached her front door, Riza surprisingly felt no better, and although the fresh air had sobered her somewhat, her head was still no clearer.

Thoughts of her superior plagued her, and she couldn't help questioning whether she'd done the right thing leaving him with Havoc and the others in the bar on the eve of such an important day.

The scent of him invaded her senses as she rolled up the sleeves of his jacket, unwilling to take it off just yet despite the welcome warmth of her apartment. She wondered whether he had any inkling of how much she'd wished it was him dancing with her in The Firehouse.

Black Hayate yapped happily around her heels as she removed her gun holster and set it down on her kitchen counter, before slipping out of her shoes. She checked the time.

Ten-twenty. Wow - it really had been a short evening.

She sighed as her gaze fell from the wall clock to the bottle of red wine tucked beside her kettle. A gift from Rebecca last Christmas that she'd never gotten around to opening. She'd never much been one for drinking at home.

Tonight though, it looked particularly inviting as she pulled out a lonely stool beside her countertop.

To hell with it. It was still early; maybe a glass would steady her nerves before bed.

* * *

Roy was an idiot. He knew he was an idiot.

He'd completely messed up the evening. He should have known better, even if it was his damn birthday. He was more than a little tipsy already, and he'd put Lieutenant Hawkeye in an awkward position by behaving like an insufferable teenager.

He knew the other men could tell he was a little deflated after she'd left, despite his attempts at bravado. Despite the way he strode back into The Firehouse with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his face stretched into an uncomfortable smile.

"Hey … where's your jacket?" Havoc had asked, raising a brow.

"It was cold. There's no cabs," was Roy's blunt reply, before he downed the remainder of his beer, signalling an end to the conversation.

He tried to get his head back into the evening; he really did.

He agreed to try out the new club Breda had heard so much about.

He drank down every drop of alcohol Falman handed him with gusto.

He danced with whichever beautiful women Havoc sent sashaying his way.

In the end, though, it was Fuery that broke his resolve.

Roy found himself leaning against the bar, watching Havoc dance with a group of attractive women that he'd just politely declined. He rolled the dregs of his whiskey around in its tumbler, frowning at the way his vision was getting a little blurry.

A small voice beside him made him look up, and he was met with a rather green faced Fuery. He'd never been especially good at handling his drink.

"Uh, Sir? Was Lieutenant Hawkeye alright when she left? I mean, do you think she got home okay? She seemed a little … sad."

_Sad._

Roy realised he'd spent the remainder of the evening feeling the same way, despite his best efforts to shake himself. He blinked at Fuery, before setting his glass down on the bar.

"Fuery - I'm done. Heading home. Make sure the others behave."

* * *

A brusque knock roused Riza from her position slumped across the kitchen counter. She massaged her temple as she straightened, eyeing the wine bottle beside her. It was just under a quarter full.

She groaned.

The knock echoed around her apartment again.

What time was it? It must be late. Why was someone knocking at her door at this hour?

Despite the fuzz in her head, she had sense enough to pick up her discarded gun from the counter as she stepped carefully towards the front door.

The knock came again.

She clicked the safety off.

"Hey - Hawkeye? Look, Don't be asleep right now, please. I need to talk to you."

The words were a little slurred, but the deep voice was familiar.

Riza's breath hitched. "Colonal?"

She clicked the safety back on the gun and slid the chain lock from the door. The seconds seemed to drag for an impossible age as she swung it open to reveal the mess of dark hair and stormy features. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

Without warning, he took a stride towards her. "We're not out in the street now."

His breath was hot on her face, and he stank of whiskey. She was aware she probably smelled of wine just the same.

They were both clearly far too intoxicated to be within two metres of one another right now.

And yet here he was.

She should scold him, for putting them in this position. Tell him he was a fool and a pain in the ass for coming here, because now she was going to have to make up the couch.

Her gaze dipped to his lips. They were set into a thin, serious line.

She was aware of her own breaths coming rapidly.

"What're you doing here?"

This went against everything they'd worked their asses off for. Everything they'd wordlessly promised one another for the sake of their unrivalled professional partnership. Everything they wanted to achieve together.

It went against _everything_.

He didn't answer her. His dark gaze just fixed her, pinning her against the hallway wall.

In the end, out of all of it, it was his silence that broke her.

Not his words; his silence.

Her bare foot hit the cool, tiles as she stepped forwards, closing whatever distance remained between them. It seemed that small step was all the permission Roy needed. In that moment, a landmine exploded between the pair, engulfing them in feral flame. Her gun clattered to the floor.

* * *

Riza's back hit the wall as Roy's mouth slammed against hers. He surged forwards onto her, as though he'd been starved all his life and she was the nourishment he needed. His hands found her of their own accord, roving up and down her sides beneath his own jacket that she still wore, grabbing at her hips as he held her in position against the wall. She groaned into their kiss, and it sent a shiver through him.

The way her body fit flush to his felt so right, in his drunken state he actually wondered why he'd waited so long to do this. He felt her hands card through his hair, fingernails catching on his scalp clumsily. He bit at her lower lip, and she gasped against his mouth. She tasted like red wine - rich and velvety and indulgent. His tongue traced the spot his teeth had just assaulted, before he pulled back to breathe.

"No."

Her hands tugged at his collar, pulling him back to her. He wondered briefly whether it was desire or the fear of coming to their senses that made her so desperate to keep their bodies joined - either way, he wasn't complaining.

He turned her, pulling her backwards into the the apartment by her hips. Her fingers ran down the buttons of his waistcoat, and then she was pulling it roughly back off his shoulders. He complied gladly, shrugging it off before tossing it carelessly aside on her living room floor. His own hands yanked the jacket from her, and it was discarded along with his waistcoat. The back of his knees hit something solid, and suddenly he was toppling backwards onto her sofa, dragging her down on top of him.

She let out a breathy giggle, and Roy was sure it was the most feminine sound he'd ever heard leave her mouth. All at once, she was the young, innocent daughter of Master Berthold Hawkeye again, and Roy was the hot headed, ambitious apprentice who spent his free time admiring her from afar. He felt the years peel away from them both, and they took with them the burdens and horrors of the past, until they were both impossibly light and carefree as they lay tangled up in one another on her sofa.

He felt her lips brush the edge of his jaw. He moaned her name. She moved along to the sweet spot on his neck, just below his ear, leaving a trail of kisses and soft sighs in her wake. Her hands kneaded his thighs, drifting dangerously close to his belt. It was as though she knew the way to undo him intrinsically, despite never having touched him like this before. He sucked in a breath, trying to regain his balance, before he lost himself completely.

Roy had no idea where they might go from here, but he did know one thing: He was not going to waste this opportunity with a lacklustre or premature performance.

"Wait," he whispered into her hair, at the same time drinking in the sweet scent of her and committing it to memory. "Slow down."

There was concern in her rich, cognac eyes when she pulled back to look at him. He grinned at her, tipping her chin up in his fingers. He kissed her slowly and deliberately, trying to convey that he wasn't hesitating; but in fact, indulging.

This time, she was the one to break away. "Sir …"

He shook his head. "Can't we just be Roy and Riza? Just for tonight?"

* * *

Riza wanted to tell him that no, she wasn't sure they could, just for tonight. How was she supposed to re-erect the wall he'd so efficiently decimated with a simple look when he'd turned up on her doorstep?

But she couldn't - she was already spiralling far too quickly into the depths of his embrace to resurface right now, and the alcohol was making it just so easy to think with her body rather than her head.

The last, minuscule shred of resolve that had made her pull away vanished as she looked into his dusky eyes.

"… Roy."

"Riza."

Her name in his baritone, gravelly with obvious desire, resonated in her very bones. She threw her arms around his neck, pushing him backwards. His head smacked against the arm of the chair, and he winced.

"Sorry," she murmured against his lips.

"Don't be," he replied, hands ghosting up and down her back. His touch there felt particularly charged, considering what they both knew lay beneath the fabric of her dress.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She sat back again to give the task her full attention. The gentle brush of fingers at her temple made her look up. Roy was pushing the loose strands of hair away from her face. Without warning, he reached around and pulled away the clip holding it all in place.

"Shit." He cursed under his breath as she felt it fall around her shoulders. "I've wanted to do that all evening."

She quirked a brow at him, biting her lip. His eyes zeroed in on her mouth, pupil's blown, before he gripped her neck roughly, pulling her back down to him. "Don't do that," he scolded before capturing her lips with his again. His kiss was hungry; insistent.

"What?" She placed a hand on his bare chest, pushing back. His skin was alight to her touch, and she felt his heart hammer erratically beneath her palm.

Roy groaned. "Everything."

Riza lost herself to the contact between their bodies. For the first time since she could remember, she relinquished control and allowed herself to be submerged in the moment with him. There was a small voice somewhere, way back in the depths of her mind, that was screaming at her right now. She knew.

Bad.

This is very bad.

A very bad idea.

A mistake.

She ignored it; drowning it out with the way Roy repeated her name against the shell of her ear like a prayer as his hands began to unfasten her dress. Beat it down with each stroke of her fingers through his tousled hair. Silenced it with the sound of her own gentle pleas as he peeled away the fabric, leaving her in her underwear.

That voice died as he lifted her easily, shirt hanging from his shoulders; her thighs clamped around his waist; and carried her through into her bedroom.

If only she'd listened.


End file.
